Mutually Beneficial
by crazyshipperfangirl
Summary: When Zetrov Industries seeks to expand abroad by partnering with Oversight & Co., Nikolai Udinov's daughter Alexandra finds herself in a tough spot: in order to "seal the deal", she must go through an arranged marriage to the CEO's son, Sean. To find out what happens when their two paths collide, read on. Full summary inside. AU Salex w/some Mikita. Rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. The Conversation In The Office

**Full Summary: Zetrov Industries is the largest and most influential company in Russia, and it's seeking to expand abroad. When Nikolai Udinov's business partners with the American company Oversight & Co., his daughter and heiress Alexandra finds herself the one who must seal the deal. Her job: an arranged 'fake' marriage to the son of Oversight's CEO, Sean Pierce. To find out what happens when these two individuals' paths' collide, read on. **

**A/N: Greetings, Nikita fans! I'm new to the fandom but a devoted fan (especially of Salex and Mikita). As I'm currently re-watching Dead Drop for the 100th time and in Nikita withdrawal till October, I'm using this story to pass the time. If you care to join me by reading, I appreciate it. Leave a review and I'll love you forever (hint).**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Nikita, Sean and Alex would already be together, Cassandra would never have existed, and Dillon Casey wouldn't own a shirt.**

* * *

**_Alex POV_**

_Moscow, Russia._

I walk crisply through the large halls of this house that is my childhood home. My father's request for my presence feels odd, considering how busy he is, managing Zetrov, although even as an oligarch and one of Russia's richest, most powerful men, he manages to show up for family dinners and Sunday brunch. We've always been close, even throughout my days studying abroad. Still, asking for me at this time on a Tuesday midmorning is just plain weird.

Layla, my father's secretary, is outside his office door, looking antsy and checking her watch. When she catches sight of me walking towards her, she smiles pleasantly.

"Ah, Miss Alexandra, your father is waiting for you inside," she says, in her thick Moscow accent.

"Thank you, Layla." I flash her my best fake smile.

Then, I open the double doors that lead to my father's office, that weird feeling still lingering in my mind.

"Alexandra, come in," he invites, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

I sit down. "Good morning, Papa."

"You're probably wondering why I called you here," he says, cutting straight to the chase.

"A bit, yes," I reply.

"It's to do with the future of Zetrov Industries," he begins.

"Papa, we talked about this," I interrupt. "I told you, I don't want to-"

"Not its leadership," he interjects quickly, killing the protest in my mouth.

"What, then?" I ask.

"As you know, Zetrov is seeking to expand from Russia to the Americas."

"Yeah, the partnership with Oversight & Co. I know all this, Papa," I say, almost irritably.

"Yes, Oversight. Their CEO, Madeleine Pierce is a formidable woman with a formidable reputation. She is a very particular person, and demands concrete evidence before make such a partnership."

"And? Why are you telling me this?"

"Because of the scale of Zetrov, Ms. Pierce is being very... uh... demanding. She is demanding that I... how shall I put this..? Seal the deal?"

I am seriously confused, man. "Seal the deal? Then what do you need me for?"

"Alexandra, you _are_ the deal."

"Wait... _What_?"

"Ms. Pierce is proposing a union most unorthodox, but if I want to go ahead with the partnership, it is non-negotiable."

"Union?"

"An arranged marriage to her son, Sean."

"A MARRIAGE?"

"Not even that. It's a... a legal contract for six months. Six months, then you're both out and it's done."

"SIX MONTHS?"

"Alexandra, dear, I know it's a lot to take in, but it's just for a short time, and it'll be over before you know it, and think of how much good you'll be doing for the company-"

"The _company_?" I shout incredulously. "I'm twenty-six years old, Papa! I can't get fake-married to a complete stranger for six months! I can't get married to a stranger _at all_!"

"Please, Alexandra, if there was another way, I would take it, but this is the best option. We've been waiting for the right deal like this to come along for months, and we can't pass it up just like this. Alexandra, I am asking you to do this for me."

I look at my father closely, and there see that he is genuinely pleading with me. I sigh.

"Do I even have a choice?" I ask, one last halfhearted attempt to challenge this utterly ridiculous idea.

My father smiles weakly. "You know the answer to that, Alexandra."

I stand up quickly and make my way for the door, knowing that when it comes to business deals, my father never changes his mind. Actually, he never changes his mind, period.

"Thank you for this, Alexandra. I love you."

I sigh. "I know. Love you too, Papa," I say. To myself, I think, _what the bloody hell am I doing?_

Just as I turn my back, my father adds one afterthought. "By the way, you should get packing. You flight to JFK leaves tomorrow morning."

And people think that being an heiress to a multi-billion dollar corporation is easy.

* * *

**A/N: So, what do you think? I'm planning on this being a multiple-chapter story, but have no plan or outline – i.e., all feedback I get I will try to incorporate.**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers!**


	2. Sea Salted Peanuts

**Alex POV**

_Zetrov Airfields, 38km from Moscow_

The sun is shining brightly, brilliantly even, almost excessively. It seems like it is beaming upon me as if to mock me and the steaming pile of dog mess I am getting myself into. Laughing with glee, as I leave my childhood home to face who knows what.

As the porter takes my last trolley of suitcases and loads them up into my father's private jet at Zetrov's very own airfields, I bade my parents' a final farewell.

'Safe journey, Alexandra darling,' says my mother Katya, a tear escaping her eyes. ' hope that you enjoy your internship on Wall Street.'

See, here's the thing: if my mother found out that my father is essentially pimping me out to a complete stranger for the sake of a business deal, she would freak out. And I don't mean a _'what the hell are you thinking'_ freak out, I mean an _'ALEXANDRA NATASHA UDINOV! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU BLOODY SILLY FOOL!_' freak out. Yeah. She'd yell that, and curse in Russian.

So... my father basically told her that I'm interning at a major multinational corporation based in New York. You know, playing the _'it's time she actually put that enormously overpriced education and business degree to use'_ -card.

Meanwhile, my first stop after I land in JFK will be to City Hall. Probably not the most romantic setting for a wedding, but hey - at least we're not getting shitfaced and married by a stoned Elvis impersonator in Vegas. (Oh the small mercies.)

Then, I'm moving into the lovely Ms. Pierce's house with her son, who may or may not be as much of an ass - sorry, _demanding_ - as she is.

If it wasn't blatantly obvious, I'm not much of an optimist.

And when _madre mía_ finds out that I got hitched instead of securing business deals, I'll spin a yarn about a _'whirlwind romance'_ and being _'swept off my feet'_ – because apparently nobody does passionate and romantic better than Seal Team 6 (hot-pink bulletproof vests that say _"I heart Jacob"_ and bullets engraved with your initials are the best Valentines-day gifts_ ever_). Then when, six months later, I will be a twenty-six year-old divorcée, I'll have to chalk it up to _'not knowing each other well enough'_ and all - the closest thing in this tale as tall as the Empire State to the truth.

Great. So not only will I be serving as a high-end prostitute (but not being sold for sex, just sold), I am also lying to my mother. Because healthy parent-child relationships just _thrive_ when you throw fake marriages and lying about them into the mix and -

'Alexandra!' My father calls, pulling me out of my inner monologue. 'It's time for your plane to leave now.'

I take a sharp intake of breath as I stand up straight and brush a nonexistent piece of dirt from my jacket. 'I'm ready,' I reply, if just to convince myself. Of course I'm not, though - if anyone knows how to prepare for fake nuptials to a stranger, you know who to call (_wink, wink_).

The private jet's ladder-staircase has been rolled out, and I am only a few feet from the vessel that will take me to another continent, and I have never felt more like cargo ever in my life - an item shipped from one person to another. I am, essentially, just a means to an end. Glancing at my father, I see a shadow of doubt, a fear that I am going to screw up this plan. In all honesty, it's not like I haven't considered backing out of this plan a million and one times in all of the eighteen hours that I've known about it. Talk about a last-minute notification.

Knowing that the plane is ready for me, I walk to my father and embrace him one last time. Whatever reservations I have about his clinically insane plan, he still is my _dad_. And on paper that doesn't have much of a meaning, but sadly, I had no say in whose sperm contributed to my existence ('tis true, 'tis a pity). _That,_ and after everything he's done for me (drilled into the ocean for oil and massively contributed to the depletion of our natural resources - now that is love), I kind of owe him.

'Thank you, Alexandra,' he says quietly to me, whilst squashing my airways by hugging me so tightly. 'Remember what I taught you and always know that I love you. You are a smart, beautiful and strong young woman.'

'Papa, you're crushing my ribcage.'

He releases me tightly, and I resume normal oxygen intake. 'For what it's worth, I appreciate the sentiment. I love you too, Papa.'

He gives me a proud smile. 'And don't forget that this will all be over in six months,' he adds.

'Oh, believe me, I won't,' I say, half-jokingly, half-dead-serious. Then, 'don't worry, Papa. I won't let you down.'

And so I pull down my sunglasses over my eyes, so as to not expose the oncoming wetness in my eyes to the world (ok, my parents, a porter, a pilot and a flight attendant, but you get the point). I don't even know why I'm shedding tears over this - maybe I'm just scared shitless. Maybe I have no idea about what I'm about to get myself into. Either way, my tear duct is translating that emotion into, well, tears.

I board the plane and sit down in a window seat at the front. As I glance out of the window to see my parents waving, I can't help but feel like the Alexandra they raised, know and love might just be making her exit on this journey. The daughter who returns to them may well be a completely different person.

All I know right now is that I am in for a long journey. And I'm not just speaking literally. Seriously, the Moscow-New York flight is a _trek._

I call the flight attendant, and hope that for now, the complimentary champagne sea-salted peanuts will help.

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**A/N: Love? Hate? Drop a review. All ideas, comments and suggestions are welcome. (Sheesh, does that sound like a Terms and Conditions or what?)**

**Also, everyone who is in Hurricane Isaac's path, I hope you all stay safe! **

**Until next time, my Nikita-addicted-withdrawal-symptoms-suffering-Salex-shippers.**


	3. Stretch Limousines

**Stretch Limousines**

**A/N: ****Hello, fellow Salex-shippers. I was going to wait to post a longer chapter but decided to half it and post this section now. Here, the long-awaited meeting between our very own Princess and Seal takes place – let me know if it lived up to your expectations!**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

**Disclaimer: Do I even have to go through this?**

* * *

**_Alex POV_**

_Somewhere in the air near the Hudson River_

The flight time from Moscow to New York JFK is approximately nine and a half hours, during which I have slept for a grand total of zero hours, minutes and seconds. I can never sleep on planes, especially not now, when I am scared shitless and nervous as hell (my wedding a.k.a. impending doom may have contributed slightly to that.) I've probably put away my own weight consuming peanuts and champagne, an odd taste combination which I seem to be craving. Listen, I am stressed, so don't _you_ start with _me_.

For the majority of the journey I have been staring out of the windows, watching the world fly by underneath. I see the world around me; where everything is so much larger in scale and importance than I am, turn into tiny specs of color, shape and movement. I feel like a giant, watching over human life, trivial specklets running around like ants. And although I am so much larger than everyone else, I feel small and insignificant, a pawn in the grand ol' chess game that is the corporate business world, being played between my father's company Zetrov and my soon-to-be mother-in-law's company Oversight.

Kristina, the petite flight attendant comes and gently taps my shoulder, pulling me straight back down to earth with a thud (no pun intended – going back down to earth right now would be a little more than inconvenient, considering we're currently flying over the Hudson river).

'Miss Udinov, the plane will soon be arriving at John F. Kennedy International Airport. I've been instructed to tell you that a certain Mr. Pierce will be waiting for you to pick you up. You're baggage will be transported directly to your accommodation.'

She gives me a smile and then returns to her seat in the Cabin Crew's area.

I thank her politely and then proceed to stow away my table and return my seat to the upright position before letting my mind wander over to Ms. Pierce's son, Sean. What will he be like? Is he a willing participant in this debacle or has he been given no feasible alternative? And, don't forget, _what does he look like?_ Is he smart, or funny, or mildly tolerable to be around? I mean, for crying out loud, I am _marrying_ the guy. A girl's gotta know these things.

At this point, I can't say that I don't care, but I definitely don't know.

* * *

_**Arrivals Gate, John F. Kennedy International Airport**_

Now, I am officially lost. I don't mean 'lost' in an abstract _'I am a lost soul, save me, oh lord'_ way. I mean _'holy freaking shit where the hell am I, who are all these people and where the fudge am I supposed to go?'_ That would be a _slightly_ more apt description for my precarious current mental state at the moment.

My look of confusion is swiftly replaced by one of curiosity as two burly security guards, armed to the teeth (just kidding, they only have 9mm guns) escort me through the long queues. At this fast pace, I get through Customs and Immigration relatively quickly, seeing as I am bumped to the front of the lines (to the great chagrin of my fellow, sleep-deprived, irritable travelers). Following the stamping of my passport, I am taken to the exit, towards the limousine stand outside.

Where someone is waiting. A male someone. A tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed, very muscular someone.

'So here she is, Alexandra Udinov, in the flesh. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, under the circumstances,' he says, and I can swear that I see his eyes are almost twinkling.

I open my mouth to speak, only to find my throat dry and incapable of uttering a word. I gulp. 'Lovely to make your acquaintance,' I reply, keeping my eye level and my gaze straight. If this man is who I think he is, I am going to be every inch the steely businesswoman. 'You seem to know exactly who I am,' I continue, 'but I'm afraid I don't quite know who you are.'

The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly, briefly alluding to a smile. 'I'm sure we'll get to know each other very well, Miss Udinov,' he says, with a hint of amusement. He then opens the door of the black stretch limousine, gesturing inside. 'I am Lieutenant Commander Sean Pierce, but you can call me Sean. Shall we?'

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**A/N: So, how was it? Drop a review and let me know what you think. Suggestions, criticisms, advice and PMs are all welcome.**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers.**


	4. Guest Bedrooms

**A/N: Hey guys! So sorry for the ridiculous delay in posting this - I had it written for ages, but my computer died and it took ages to get it fixed. Nevertheless, I'm back with chapter numero cuatro. Enjoy!**

**And as if I have to remind you, Season 3 of Nikita premieres in two weeks! *Insert fangirl squeal***

* * *

**Alex POV**

**_Somewhere in Manhattan, NY_**

The ride in the limousine to where Madeline Pierce has decided to house me (a location currently unknown) is long, awkward and tense. Neither Sean nor I have the faintest idea as to what to do or say. Imagine the awkwardness of a blind date your nosy mother set you up on, except 5,000 times weirder. Thus, the awkward silence. Almost twenty-five minutes pass before I decide to make small talk, and Sean apparently has the exact same idea, and the exact same time.

"So, how is the weather here in New York?"

"So, how was your flight?"

Sean laughs, and while my ears turn the color of Heinz tomato soup, I thank whoever I should thank that it's dark in here.

"Okay," we reply at the same time.

"God, this is awkward," Sean says, giving me a goofy smile. _Funny,_ I say to myself. _I never pegged Seal Team 6 for the cute, nerdy and goofy types. That description I reserve for the guys majoring in Computer Studies who hit on me in the library back in my undergrad college days._

"You have no idea," I say. "I don't think I've done something crazier in my life, frankly."

"I know," Sean agrees. "If it wasn't my mom asking, I would have had my head checked."

"Oh, so you're a Mama's Boy, eh?" I tease.

"Guilty as charged. Although I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that you're a Daddy's Girl," Sean replies, equally teasingly.

"Bingo," I say. "Why else would we be here? Family definitely ropes you into things you'd never otherwise do."

"Yup," Sean says, popping the 'p'. "But a fake arranged marriage is definitely one for the books," he adds.

"When my business school professors talked about the importance of creativity to business, I don't think they quite meant this," I say dryly.

"Well, my mother has been known for her rather... unconventional methods," Sean replies.

"So this arrangement is just her _'thinking outside of the box'_?"

"Yeah, way, _way_ out of the box," Sean says, laughing. He then looks out of the window to see where we are. "Speaking of the devil..."

The limousine parks outside of a large apartment complex in the middle of the Upper East Side, and outside the building is a stern-looking woman with a sleek bob, angular jaw and uber-professional suit outfit: in a nutshell, everything I expected her to look like. If CEOs of multimillion dollar corporations are meant to be cool-headed, Ms. Pierce is ice cold.

Sean and I get out of the limousine and before I can process anything around me, save the chilly New York air, I am being let straight into the belly of the beast - towards Madeline Pierce.

Sean first greets his mother with a warm hug, and for a fraction of a second, I can see the woman's cold, hard exterior crack as the Momma Bear warmness seeps through. Then, she turns to me.

And it's back.

"Miss Udinov, I'm so glad you're here," she says, extending her hand for me to shake. "How was your flight?" she asks.

"Very comfortable, thank you," I reply politely.

"Good," she says. "Well, you must be exhausted after such a long journey. I'll get Sean to show you up to your place, straight away, so you can get some rest, and get better acquainted."

"Yeah, did I forget to tell you?" says Sean. "You are moving in with the Pierces."

Suddenly, I regret all of the savory snacks I ate on the plane, as all of them have just come up through my stomach on a wave of nausea. "I'm moving in with you?" I splutter, in a voice that is most certainly not my own.

"Well, with Sean, more specifically," clarifies Ms. Pierce. "If we want to sell this story to the media, we need to make it real. You two will be cohabitating from now until your return to Moscow."

"Of course," I say, composing myself, internally having a panic attack.

"It's a win-win agreement, really," she continues, unfazed. "Your father and I secure the business deal, you two kids get to play a vital role in your family companies while living the high life, while the tabloid media gets enough material to keep them going for a while now, giving us positive press. It's quite the mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Indeed," mutters Sean, under his breath.

Ms. Pierce shoots her son the death glare, then returns to me. "I've already had your luggage delivered to the apartment," she continues without blinking an eye. "Sean will take you up." Then, she gives me her most reassuring business smile (yeah, totally not reassuring) and walks off towards another black limousine that is waiting for her in the parking lot (she must have a thing for those cars).

I exhale deeply and then give Sean my best smile. "So, shall we go?"

"Yes, we shall," says Sean, leading me towards the large revolving doors.

I close my eyes briefly, count to ten under my breath and make my way inside.

I guess I'm going to have to be a better actress than I originally thought.

* * *

The elevator pings as it opens. The seventy-fifth floor, and home of my new residence, a penthouse apartment.

Sean unlocks the door and shows me in. Now, I've had my fair share of luxury as the spawn of an oligarch, but this is the ultimate bachelor pad: neutral colors with splashes of blue serve as the color scheme, with furnishing of dark wood, leather and glass adorning the apartment in an open-plan setting. It is all sleek, modern and distinctly unfeminine.

"Cool place. The Pierces seem to be doing alright," I deadpan, hiding my actual awe at Sean's apartment.

"What, this old place?" Sean teases.

I roll my eyes playfully. "Look, I hate to be a party pooper, but I am ready to crash, so -"

Sean nods. "Right away," he says. "You're in the guest bedroom." He leads me through the apartment into a hallway, where there are two bedrooms and a bathroom. He opens the door to one of them, and we walk inside.

I catch a glimpse of my suitcases neatly positioned in a corner of the room before I turn my full attention to surveying my room. Again, I am impressed by the Pierces' interior decorator. Large, modern and with windows offering stunning views of the Big Apple's skyline, I can see myself falling head over heels with this city.

"If everything is fine, I'll let you get catch some Zzzzs," says Sean from behind me, obviously amused by my fixation on the view. "Sweet view, right?" he adds.

"Very," I reply, holding back the grin of a kid in a candy store.

"So, I'm right across the hall," continues Sean. "Goodnight, Miss Udinov."

"Miss Udinov?" I snort. "Please, call me Alex. I have been called Miss Udinov too many times for my liking in the last 48 hours. Plus, we'll be living together for the next six months, so I think we can operate on a first-name basis."

A smile tugs at the corner of Sean's mouth. "Well then, Alex," amends Sean. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Sean," I reply.

He quietly exits my room, and I let myself fall into the king-sized bed, not even bothering to change my clothes. The sheer exhaustion sweeps over my body, and I let myself ride the wave into dreamless slumber.

And, I'm pretty damn sure I'm going to need all the energy I can get if I want to navigate my way around this deal, this _mutually beneficial arrangement._

* * *

**A/N: So, how did the first interaction between Alex and the formidable Madeline Pierce rate for you guys? Let me know your thoughts, and if you have any ideas as to how Sean and Alex should better get acquainted, let me know (just remember this fic is staying at T, haha)**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers.**


	5. Blueberry Muffins, Sushi and Burritos

**A/N: OMG OMG OMG! Did you see the season 3 premiere? I was squealing the whole time! And sighing at the epic beauty that is Nikita.**

**As for this fic, I know it's been three weeks. I know. And trust me, I had _the best_ of intentions to update it before the show's return, but my laptop crashed, and I lost everything. Yup, I'm having a _great_ month so far.**

**Anyway, apologies for the long wait, and the size of this Author's Note, which should be ending right about now...**

* * *

_**Alex's POV**_

_Sean's apartment, UES, NYC_

Beams of sunlight hit my face, and I wake with a start, my eyelids opening fast. I wince at the harsh sunlight, and stretch lazily, yawning.

Then, I sit up with a start, for a second forgetting where I am and what I am doing here.

_One, two, three._

Yep, it's back.

I climb out of bed and head straight to the suitcase closest to the bed, grabbing a pair of dark wash jeans and a teal sweater as I head to the bathroom. I change quickly, splash some cold water on my face and after brushing it through, I twist my hair into a messy bun.

I take a breath, and head out of my room.

I am greeted by the smell of coffee, and my stomach grumbles in approval. In my exhaustion last night, it appears that I forgot to eat or drink anything - _oops._

Making my way down the hallway, I see Sean at the open-plan kitchen/dining/living room, pressing buttons on a very high-tech looking coffee machine. I clear my throat awkwardly, and he jumps, and looks at me.

'Oh, good morning,' he says. 'I trust you slept well last night?'

'Like a log,' I answer truthfully.

'So, would you like some coffee? I don't have much in the way of breakfast foods, I'm afraid -'

'Coffee's fine,' I interject, although I could positively eat a horse right now.

'However, I did go out and get you some muffins for breakfast, since you're probably starved,' Sean says, eyes twinkling. 'Which, I was going to say, had you not interrupted me,' he adds.

I blush, and examine my toes. 'Muffins sound amazing,' I reply gratefully.

'I thought they would.'

He pours me a mug of steaming coffee and places a brown paper bag on the breakfast bar counter. I pull up a seat, and open the bag, to be overwhelmed by the smell of blueberry muffins.

'You must be psychic, because blueberry is my favorite,' I say.

'Not psychic, just good at guessing,' Sean replies. 'So, do you have any plans for today?' he asks after a moment.

'None that I'm aware of,' I say, my mouth half-full of blueberry muffin-y goodness.

'Good,' he says. 'Because I was thinking that maybe I could take you for a tour of the city. We could do all the touristy things, plus I'm a local, so I know all the hidden gems this side of the Hudson.'

'You _do_?' I tease. 'Surely that's classified information?'

'Not if you have the level of clearance that I, of course, do,' Sean counters, equally teasingly.

'Well, in that case, I would be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity,' I reply.

Sean is about to open his mouth, when a phone rings. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, looking to see he caller ID. 'Sorry, I have to take this,' he says apologetically, turning around so that his back is to me.

'Hi,' he says into the phone. 'What? When? I was going to – Yes, it's important, so – Fine, so long as we can – Okay, okay, we're going.' He hangs up.

Sean exhales deeply and turns back to face me. 'Sorry, that was my mom.'

'Ah,' I say. 'From the sound of it, I'm guessing we're going to have to take a rain check on the tour?'

'Actually, no,' Sean says. 'My mom wants us to spend the day together out in the city,' he explains. I raise an eyebrow. 'She thinks we should be seen together in public a lot so that the media won't be surprised when...'

'Got it,' I say quickly. 'I'll go get ready. We can leave in ten.' I stand up fast, brushing an invisible crumb from my sweater. 'Thanks for the muffins,' I add as I leave.

* * *

'When you said "explore New York", I didn't know you really meant "eat lunch at a restaurant your mother picked".' I complain to Sean, twirling my iced peach tea with a straw.

'Was window shopping on Fifth Avenue for an hour and a half not good enough for you then?' Sean replies good-humoredly.

Mentally, I roll my eyes. 'Whilst I admit that the Tiffany and Co. store _was_ pretty amazing, what about the Empire State, or Liberty Island, or Central Park, or the Met or the Yankees Stadium?' I rattle off the first few iconic NYC spots at the top of my head, and Sean looks more and more amused by the minute. 'What?' I ask. 'Are you laughing at me?'

'Not laughing,' Sean protests. 'You are sitting in Kuruma Zushi, one of New York City's finest Japanese restaurants, and you are complaining that I haven't taken you to the _Yankees Stadium_? You are not like other girls, Alexandra Udinov.'

'It's the Yankees Stadium,' I mumble. 'And I hate sushi.'

'You hate sushi? How is that possible?' Sean exclaims. 'I thought everybody loves sushi.'

'I'm not everybody,' I retort. 'Look, I had a bad experience in Paris when I was ten. I ate sushi and got food poisoning,' I explain. '

'And now you avoid it like the plague. I get it,' nods Sean. 'I had a similar encounter with a bad burrito in Santa Fe. It was awful! I used to live on pizza and Mexican food, but after that, it took me forever to start eating it again.'

I look at his mock-serious expression for a few seconds. Then, we both burst out laughing.

'What's so funny?' asks Sean. 'Are you laughing at me?' he adds, quoting my earlier protest.

'Um, yeah,' I reply. 'It's so ridiculous how we were so traumatized by an experience of food poisoning that we used to avoid eating entire cuisines.'

Sean raises an eyebrow. 'Used to? Does that mean that you are overcoming your phobia of sushi? I knew I had a positive influence, but _this_? This is a breakthrough.'

'Just hand me the damn menu.'

* * *

**A/N: So, let me know what you thought! The next chapter should introduce some other members of Team Nikita, so watch this space!**

**As for Season 3, I really hope the writers let Alex have some luck in the romance department - with Sean, of course. The _idea_ of her and Owen makes me gag. Am I really the only one?**

**As always, reviews are much appreciated.**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers!**


	6. From Oscar to the Plaza

**A/N: Ah, the Salex feels we got in episode 4... My shipper heart almost exploded with joy during their scenes only to be crushed into a million pieces. And now that Owen and Amanda are back, I am almost certain that we'll get some Olex shoved down our throats. Gag.**

**Anyhoo, presenting chapter 6.**

* * *

_**Alex POV**_

_**Oscar de la Renta, 772 Madison Avenue**_

'Lift up your arms a bit, sweetie,' says the shop assistant taking my measurements in her high-pitched Barbie voice.

'For the gala tonight, she's going to need something elegant and sophisticated, isn't that right, Alexandra?' says Madeleine from behind me.

'Of course,' I reply with a large smile (fake as hell, obviously).

'So go find us the perfect cocktail dress,' commands Madeleine to the shop assistant.

'Of course,' the creature squeaks in reply. 'I'll go fetch something that's perfect.' And off the little gerbil scurries off.

I examine my reflection in the floor-length mirror. I've been in New York three days, and I'm already being carted around to find a cocktail dress for the upcoming charity gala tonight. It's me and Sean's official 'presentation to society' - our first attendance of a public event as a (fake-)couple. _Yippee._

And so my soon to be mother-in-law decided she would be the one to take me shopping for the dress, and she's being a perfect nightmare. Speaking on my behalf, ordering around the assistant, and overall eliciting some pretty pronounced and dramatic eye-rolls from yours truly (mentally, of course). I can't wait until the bridal fittings come around. At the rate at which my fake-relationship is progressing, I'll be walking down the aisle before Christmas decorations come up.

'Oh, how lovely,' exclaims Madeleine as the assistant brings forth a rack of about ten dresses, the combined price of which could probably feed a third-world country for a solid month.

'Which one would you like to try on first?' inquires the assistant.

'The blue,' replies Madeleine, before I have a chance to open my mouth. Ironically though, I was going to say the blue. That's the first thing I've agreed with her on all morning.

The assistant hands me the dress carefully, and leads me to the area behind a screen door, the fitting room. I quickly shimmy out of my clothes into the dress and walk out from behind the screen, making my way to my reflection in the mirror.

I intake a breath sharply. The dark blue silk fits me like a glove, with a strapless sweetheart beaded neckline, the rest of the dress fitted to my thigh, then a flare outwards. It is as close to perfect as a dress can come.

'It looks lovely,' comments the assistant.

'Indeed,' says Madeleine. 'But perhaps we should try the - '

'I'll take it,' I say suddenly.

Madeleine looks taken aback, but recovers her ice cold demeanour swiftly.

'Of course,' she says. 'Sarah, if you would have - ' she begins, to the assistant.

The assistant referred to as Sarah's smile becomes large as she interrupts, 'Yes, ma'am. And it's Serena.'

Few Madeleine Pierce facial expressions bring me more joy than the 'pissed-off-I-am-going-to-skewer-you-you-subordinate-little-rodent' look.

* * *

**Sean's Apartment, UES**

I stand in front of the mirror on the inside of my closet doors and apply the finishing touches to my hair and makeup, which, surprisingly, I am doing on my own. One would have thought that a control-freak like Madeleine would have had me surrounded by stylists and makeup artists in the dozens before my big appearance, but perhaps she's beginning to see that I can manage my image just fine, _thank you_. Besides, she's probably waiting to pull out all the stops for her precious publicity stunt wedding, saving the big guns for later.

I inspect myself one last time before turning to my dress, brand new and lying carefully on the bed, in all of its cobalt glory. I lift it painstakingly from the hanger and slip into it slowly, careful not to rip, tear, crease, or in any way damage its look. I refuse to fall prey to a wardrobe malfunction which will then be sensationalized by the tabloid press - I'm going to be sensationalized enough already.

I slip on my heels and give my reflection a final up-and-down before gabbing my slate gray clutch and walking out the door, into the living area.

Sean is already there, dressed to the nines in a dark, expensive-looking designer suit, leather dress shoes, light blue dress shirt and a tie - well, almost a tie. He is, in fact, standing in front of the microwave, trying to fix his tie by looking into the reflection. The scene is almost comical, and a laugh escapes my throat, notifying Sean of my presence.

He turns around swiftly and his eyes widen slightly. 'Wow, you look amazing,' he says, with a boyish smile.

'You don't clean up too bad yourself,' I reply. 'Although you would look better if you actually did up your tie,' I add jokingly.

He looks sheepish, and opens his mouth to make an excuse, but before any sounds come out, I walk straight over to him and put my clutch under my arm and do his tie for him. When I'm done, I straighten his collar fo good measure. 'There,' I announce. 'All done.'

'Thanks,' Sean says, albeit taken aback. He stands there for a moment, as do I, before he hastily checks his watch.

'It's nine o'clock, so we should probably head downstairs and wait for our ride,' he informs me.

'Our ride? What is it, a Harley?' I tease.

Sean laughs. 'We both know that my mother would probably kill me if we showed up on the back of a motorcycle. For one, it would ruin your dress,' he says.

'And thus, the zombie apocalypse ensues,' I reply light-heartedly.

'Well, the looks on the faces of everyone at the gala would make you think that it was the end of the world,' Sean counters. 'Can you just imagine their faces?'

I mock-shudder and gesture to the door. 'Come one, we should probably get going,' I say.

Sean nods. 'We should. We wouldn't want to be late, now would we?'

* * *

**Plaza Hotel, 768 5th Avenue, NY**

The gala appears to be in full swing as Sean and I enter, arm in arm. We were followed from the limousine to the door of the Plaza Hotel by a barrage of paparazzi, madly clicking away at their cameras. If we were trying to avoid them, it would have been hell. But, as we all know, our faces on the cover of every New York social blog is our exact objective. So, we smiled sweetly, Sean's arm around my waist for good measure.

As we walk into the highly decorated ballroom, the tinkling of the chandeliers above mixed with the sound of voices fill the air. At once we are offered a glass of champagne, to which we both decline. I can only speak for myself, but if and when I need a drink tonight, it's going to be a hell of a lot stronger than a glass of bubbly.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was going to be longer, but I thought it would be better if I posted this half earlier on to spread it out more, and give you something to go on, especially since we have to wait till NOVEMBER 30th to see the next episode. As if this last episode wasn't hearbreakingly torturous enough (the 'I love you but it's me or Division' line.) **

**I also have big things planned for the next chapter… In the meantime, I'll be watching Salex videos and stalking the Salex tumblr page. They are taking over my life. Seriously.**

**P.S. And on a completely unrelated note, does anyone else think that Sonya is the mole and that Owen would be best paired off with Ann – they both have Amanda screwing with their heads as common ground, right?**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers!**


	7. Speeches

**A/N: Wow, two chapters in two days, and the longest chapter so far! Can you tell I'm inspired? Really, I am an awful updater, so enjoy the regular updates while they last (which will not be that long). I also want to thank everyone who reads, reviews and follows this story - it means a lot! I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to have an extremely hard time waiting till November 30th!**

* * *

_**Alex POV**_

_**Plaza Hotel, 368 5th Avenue, New York**_

An hour later and my face physically _hurts_ from laughing and smiling continuously for so long. Sean and I have been travelling from one wealthy socialite and corporate executive to another non-stop, playing the part of the happy couple to a T. Listening to the escapades on golf courses of men in their 50s (riveting), smiling blissfully as women with so much plastic surgery they look like ducks telling us about how useful that Art History degree from Cornell has been, and overall acting like a typical, happy couple.

Except for one thing.

We're not.

I know, minor detail, but when we are asked by a genteel old socialite from the Hamptons where and how we met, Sean and I are faced with the awkwardness of - _what was it again?_ Oh yes - _not knowing_. I guess we should have agreed on a cover story more thoroughly. I guess we were too busy eating sushi.

'So where exactly did you two meet?' says the old crow.

Sean and I look at each other, and smile even more widely than before, in an effort to stall.

'We met - ' I begin.

' - when we were both - ' Sean continues.

' - at Oversight,' I finish. I can practically feel Sean's eyes burning a hole through my head and he nudges me in a very _'what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you-you-are-blowing-our-cover'_ way.

'I was an intern with the company to get some work experience when I bumped into Sean at the office,' I explain, improvising at bullet train speed.

'And I was back in town to visit my mother at her HQ when Alexandra decided to run into me with a stack of paperwork,' Sean elaborates, catching on quickly.

'Well, you _did_ help me pick it all up, and managed to write your number on a piece of paper before handing it to me, didn't you,' I say to Sean with a teasing smile, willing my body language to read affection and not full-blown panic.

'It worked, did it not?' Sean counters, carrying on the charade seamlessly.

'Well, it seems as though you are very happy indeed,' comments the woman. 'I'll keep my eyes open for the wedding invitation,' she adds as she turns to leave us.

'Duly noted,' Sean mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

'God, that was awful,' I gush after a moment. 'Total deer in the headlights moment.'

'Yeah, we definitely need to go over our story at some point,' Sean agrees.

'Preferably _before_ we write the vows,' I add dryly.

'That's too close to the truth to be a good joke,' Sean retorts, eyes twinkling like the chandeliers.

I open my mouth to reply when a tall, slim woman in a red dress walks towards us, throwing her arms around Sean. For a second, my brain registers '_WTF_'. Fake or not, Sean is _my_ date tonight. She is followed by a brown-haired man slightly taller than Sean in an Armani suit.

'Sean, it's so good to see you,' she says.

'Alex, this is Nikita, an old friend,' explains Sean. 'And this is Michael,' he adds, pointing to the man. 'Michael and I were in the Navy together.'

'Nice to meet you,' I say, expecting another gratuitous conversation with socialites and CEOs. 'I'm Alexandra.'

'So you're her?' says the woman, Nikita. 'The future-fake-wife?'

My eyes pop out of my skull, wide as saucers. 'How does she - ' I begin.

'Did I forget to tell you? They're _very good_, old friends. They know the whole thing. We can trust them,' Sean explains.

'So what do you do, Michael and Nikita?' I ask, curious.

'I used to be in the Navy, as you know, but now I work for the US Government Department of Defense,' says Michael.

'And I'm an investigative journalist,' says Nikita. 'Mainly foreign affairs. Definitely makes for interesting conversations, with this guy being all top-secret,' she adds, playfully nudging Michael's shoulder.

'I'm sure,' I agree, laughing with Sean and Michael, a genuine laugh for the first time all evening.

'Oh, look, Ice Queen's entered a fifty meter radius,' says Nikita, and I see Madeleine approaching us.

'Ice Queen?' I ask, raising an eyebrow.

'Yeah, not an overly complicated one,' Nikita says. 'Anyway, Michael and I should leave before she gets here as she hates me, but you and I should definitely hang out sometime, away from the guys. You look like you could use some yoga. It's very relaxing,' she adds.

'Sure thing,' I reply happily, and Michael and Nikita head off into the crowd.

'They seem friendly,' I say to Sean.

'Yeah, Michael's a bit more quiet, and Nikita's the outgoing one,' replies Sean. 'But if you end up taking up her offer of yoga, I swear she will end up making you do something ridiculous like the flamingo on your first day and then take you for iced green tea afterwards.'

I laugh. 'I'll keep that in mind.' I am about to add something else when Ice Queen - sorry, _Madeleine_ - strides right towards us.

'Hello, dear,' she says to Sean. Then, to me, 'Alexandra, you look lovely.'

'Thank you,' I reply politely. 'It's down to you, of course. You picked the dress,' I add.

Madeleine smiles, and turns back to Sean. 'Dear, your speech is in a few moments,' she says.

'Yes, mom, I'll be right there,' Sean responds calmly.

'Well, I thought I'd wish you luck before your big moment,' says Madeleine. 'And yours too,' she adds to me as she walks off.

'What?' I ask, confused.

'It's a long story,' says Sean. 'I'll explain everything later, but I really need for you to go along with everything for now. It's showtime.'

'Again, _what_?'

'I can't tell you,' says Sean. 'If we want to sell this as real, you actually have to be surprised when it happens.'

'When _what_ happens?'

'Look, I've got to go,' says Sean. 'Wish me luck.'

'Good luck...' I say as he leaves and heads to the front of the room, near the podium.

Just then, the microphone comes to life. 'Ladies and Gentlemen,' begins Madeleine. 'As you all know, this evening is dedicated to Oversight's new project, the Oversight Foundation, our first solo venture into philanthropic initiatives. I would like you to join me in a welcoming round of applause for its frontman, my dear son, Sean.'

The crowd claps politely as Sean takes to the podium. Equal parts intrigued and confused, I listen intently to his words.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' he begins. 'I would first of all like to thank you all for coming tonight, and I once again am sure you will be generous to support this worthwhile cause.

'The Oversight Foundation is aimed to sponsor and support education, sport and art for young people in our city's most deprived areas. We aim to apply our corporate and people skills to organize and train these youths to become more active in their lives and local communities, be it in soccer teams, study groups or drawing classes. We strive to provide opportunities and more importantly, a support system to those who need it the most. Most of those of us in this room are fortunate to be surrounded by a strong support system, both our loved ones and our mentors.

'I myself am no exception to have been blessed with loved ones and mentors alike. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Madeleine Pierce, my mother, for being the best of both, and whose support and backing have been instrumental to this project, as well as my family, friends and colleagues.'

The crowd applauds with appreciation, with ten times the fervor than before. They are obviously as impressed as I undeniably am. Who knew philanthropy was on this Seal's to-do-list?

However, the next few moments nearly send me into cardiac arrest, and I finally know what Sean and Madeleine's cryptic communications mean.

'I also want to take this chance to thank my beautiful girlfriend Alexandra, who has been my rock throughout the development of this foundation. Alexandra, will you come up here?'

Shock races through me as the crowd turns to face and stare at me as, paralyzed, I walk up to the podium to stand next to Sean. My face shows a smile, but my insides are churning. I have a sinking suspicion as to what this is leading up to. I knew it was going to happen inevitably, but so _publicly_? I know that this entire relationship is a PR stunt, but _this_ is no doubt masterminded by Madeleine. _The wicked witch_. It's been three bloody days, and already Madeleine's sophisticated puppet show has begun. I haven't even gotten over my jet lag yet, for crying out loud, and now _this_?

'Alexandra,' Sean says, into the microphone yet twisting it so it can be held freely in his hand. The sound of his voice startles me, snapping me out of my reverie. 'Alex, on this night when I launch an initiative to give others support, I want to thank and acknowledge you for the support you have given me. I love you, and I want the world to know that. I want the world to know what a smart, funny, beautiful and amazing human being you are, and I want them to know that you are mine. That is, if you will be mine.' He drops to one knee, and - yup, you got it - from his pocket produces a ring. I'm not going to insult anybody's intelligence by asking them if theu can guess the next part.

'Alexandra Udinov, will you marry me?'

I am so taken aback by how lovely that proposal is, how public it is, and because of how he doesn't mean a word of it, that tears well up in my eyes. He doesn't love me; I don't love him. Hell, I don't even _know_ him. So to hear such a gorgeous speech of which I am completely undeserving brings tears to my eyes. To the watching plutocrats, it's because we have a _great love_. To me, it's because we don't. The full weight of what I am doing is finally lying on my shoulders, and for a moment, I am Atlas himself, carrying the world on his back.

And after what seems like an eternity, I give an answer, the only answer, albeit tearfully.

'Yes.'

Sean slips the large diamond onto my ring finger and stands up. For a moment, our eyes meet, and I know this scene of the play is not yet complete. I tilt my head and press my lips to Sean's, and the audience goes mental, applauding madly and with as much enthusiasm with which they watch soaps and gamble on expensive horses. Sean's lips are soft on mine, yet the union is over as quick as it started. It is an act, and we have both played our parts in this scene. For a moment his lips brush past my ear and I hear him whisper, 'I'm sorry, I'll explain later,' before turning back to the crowd.

Sean holds up the microphone again. 'Thank you all, and I trust you will donate generously. Goodnight.'

And with that, he and I, arm in arm, walk through the crowds and out of the door of the ballroom. Two burly bodyguards escort us out of the hotel, and we make our way to the limousine that is invariably waiting for us.

As we leave, I catch a final glimpse of a very smug-looking Madeleine Pierce.

And thus the real fun begins.

* * *

**A/N: Oh, god, tell me how it was! I was very nervous and apprehensive about putting the proposal in this chapter. Was it too much too soon? Was it too public? Too obvious? Let me know! It's probably the riskiest thing I've done with the story, so I'm going nuts! I honestly don't know what came over me that made me think it would be a good idea to mash the proposal all up in here, so tell me if it worked or was a total disaster!**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers!**


	8. Explanations, Chinese Takeaway and Yoga

**A/N: So, I'm guessing you guys want the explanation to all of the crazy ass shiz that went down in the last chapter. Well, I hope this is sufficient! Also some girl bonding in this one, hope you like it!**

* * *

_**Alex POV**_

_**Sean's Apartment, UES**_

'You want to tell me what the hell that was?' I ask, less than a nanosecond after Sean's keys turn in the lock and we enter the apartment.

'Look, it's been a long night and you must be tired,' Sean begins. 'You should go to bed.'

'No way, you don't get to pull that crap with me,' I retort angrily. After the events of the night, I need answers, and _dammit_, I am going to get them. I glare at Sean, determined to wear him down if need be.

Sean sighs. 'Before you stake me, let me explain,' says Sean, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie.

'Oh, I'm going to let you explain,' I reply. 'And it had better be good.'

Sean gestures to the closest couch, and while I want to stand and be intimidating, my aching feet give in and I sit down, kicking off my heels. 'Start,' I command.

Sean takes a deep breath. 'This was meant to be about the Oversight Foundation,' he begins. 'That is all I wanted. To launch this project, to actually make a difference in the world. Tonight was meant to be about the charity, and that is all I wanted from it.'

'Well, what changed?' I ask. 'Because _that_ was not a charity launch. _That_ was a publicity stunt, and the least you could have done was tell me beforehand.'

'I know, but the whole proposal thing was my mother's doing.'

I roll my eyes. 'Of course it was.'

Sean looks at me sharply. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

'It means that this entire thing is her idea. We are nothing more than her puppets, her pawns in a corporate chess game. And I know what I signed up for, but it is not _this_. I signed up to fake a marriage for six months, not to accept a proposal in front of thousands on what was meant to be a night about giving back.'

'Trust me, I wanted it to be about the charity, but my mom insisted that the proposal would be a good idea.'

'_How_?' I ask, baffled. 'How is springing a fake proposal on me in front of thousands a good idea?'

'That was it, though,' Sean answers. 'You had to be genuinely shocked for the crowd to buy it, and the whole production of it all was meant to get the crowd all excited. If they had been given a slice of salacious socialite gossip, then they would be more likely to donate big, if just to thank us for the show we put on. It was killing two birds with one stone,' Sean adds. 'The foundation gets a gossip-worthy launch, and our relationship is solidified, legitimized, publicly.'

'It's _mutually beneficial_,' I say quietly, under my breath. I remove my gaze from Sean's remorseful eyes to the ground. I clear my throat. 'And what if I had choked and ran?' I inquire. 'Huh? What then?'

Sean shook his head. 'I guess I trusted you to keep it up. You seem like you are completely capable to follow through with this whole thing.'

I take a deep breath, trying to process everything he is saying. 'Your story is all very well, but it still doesn't explain why you had to go and do this, three days after I got here,' I say. 'Does the word "rushed" bear _any_ significance to you in this instance?'

Sean runs a hand absent-mindedly through his hair, tousling it slightly. 'I figured that the quicker the proposal, the sooner the wedding,' he replies. 'And the sooner the wedding, the sooner six months comes around, and this can all be over.'

'Why, am I _that_ hard to be in a fake relationship with?' I ask, almost challenging, almost bitter.

'No,' Sean says adamantly. 'I just get the feeling that you don't want to be here, that you want this over with as fast as possible. I was trying to be considerate,' he adds softly.

I stand up and straighten my back. 'You know what, I think you were right,' I say. 'I _am_ tired.'

I make my way to leave when Sean stands up quickly and grabs my hand. 'Alex, look - '

'What, Sean? What do you want?' I reply, exhaustion evident in my tone.

Sean looks me straight on, and I see that he too looks tired and fed up. 'Nothing. Just... Get some rest, okay?'

I gently remove my hand from his. 'Goodnight, Sean.'

* * *

The next morning, I approach the living area with caution. After the spectacle that was last night, I am nervous to face the aftermath. Not only is the media probably going wild with the story of my impending nuptials, but Sean is probably pissed at me too. That, or he just doesn't want to see me because he appears to have disappeared. Scanning the apartment, he is not anywhere to be found.

I make my way to the coffee machine and find a note taped to the fridge next to the counter.

_'Dear Alex_

_I know you are probably still mad at me, and with good reason, so I left early so we could both have some space and time to cool off. In the meantime, call this number. It'll help you relax and have fun. Trust me._

_I'll see you soon._

_Sean._

_P.S. There's Chinese in the fridge.'_

A telephone number is scrawled at the bottom of the note. I fish my cell out of my pocket and dial the numbers. It rings once. Then twice. Then -

'Alex, Sean said you'd be calling sometime today,' says the voice of none other than Nikita.

'Yeah, he left me this number,' I say.

'Great, I'll be there in ten minutes,' replies Nikita in a firm tone.

'What?'

'Sean didn't tell you?' asks Nikita. 'I am giving you a crash course in yoga. You can go ahead and get stretching. We wouldn't want you to pull a muscle.'

* * *

True to her word, Nikita shows up on Sean's doorstep not ten minutes later, with two yoga mats under her arm, a small duffel bag and a 2 liter bottle of water. She comes prepared all right.

'Ready to get started?' she asks.

'Um... Sure,' I reply.

Nikita opens the zipper of her duffel, pulls out a tank top and training shorts, and throws them at my chest. 'I figured that you didn't bring gym clothes on your mission to unite the rival kingdoms of Ice Queen and Daddy, so I brought these,' she says. 'Put them on.'

I don't know whether it's her firm yet kind voice or knowing that she could easily kick my ass (Sean told me she's a black belt in Mixed Martial Arts) that makes me do as she commands. Anyway, I change into the clothes and begin stretching my ridiculously tense body, for a moment the pain of properly stretching my hamstring for the first time in a month overriding my stress of having gotten fake-engaged in front of thousands the night before. Oh well. It's the little things in life, right?

Three hours later, and we are sitting at the kitchen table, eating sesame noodles with chopsticks from the stock of takeaway in the fridge.

'Well, it's safe to say that Sean doesn't do a whole lot of cooking,' Nikita comments in between mouthfuls. 'How is all that going, anyway?'

'The living with Sean or being fake-engaged to him thing?' I ask. 'You and half of Manhattan saw that spectacle last night, right?'

'Yeah. I think it's going to take them a while to recover from that,' Nikita says. 'For what it's worth, I know that he didn't want to do it so publicly.'

'Wait? You _knew_ about the public proposal?' I ask, surprised. Did _everyone_ know that was happening _except_ me?

Nikita smiles. 'He needed to tell someone about it,' she says. 'This has been pretty insane, and he needs a support system. Between Michael giving him a pep talk now and then and me giving him a hand with his proposal speech, I think we're doing okay.'

'_You_ wrote the speech?'

'More like I proofed it. You know, making sure that it garnered enough "_awwws_" from the crowd yet wasn't too cheesy,' replies Nikita.

'It was lovely,' I assure her. 'It was the best fake-proposal I've ever heard.'

We laugh for a moment at the sheer absurdity of that statement. 'So, when's the wedding?' inquires Nikita.

I splutter. 'We _just_ got engaged.'

Nikita raises an expectant eyebrow. 'I suppose whenever Ice Queen decides it is best,' I amend.

'Ah, I see you've adopted my nickname for her,' says Nikita.

'It seems to suit her so well that I just_ couldn't_ resist,' I joke. 'Talk about mothers-in-law from hell. Hard to imagine her being all warm and fuzzy as a mother.'

'To be fair, she has been good to Sean,' interjects Nikita. 'Although it pains me to say it, Madeleine Pierce is a good parent. At least, she's the only one Sean's got left.'

'Sean's father is dead?' I ask, shocked. I guess I was so preoccupied with my crazy life that I never asked about Sean's.

'Yeah, he died when Sean was just a kid. Madeleine raised him alone, did a good job of it too,' explains Nikita. 'Sean's a good guy, Alex,' she adds.

'I know,' I say. 'I just - I don't know him. I don't know anything about him.'

'Then _get_ to know him,' says Nikita, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. 'Go out, hang out, get to know each other. You are fake lovers but that doesn't mean that you can't be real friends. You're going to have to at least get along for the next few months, right?'

I let Nikita's (wise) words sink in for a moment. 'You're right,' I say eventually. 'But even when we go out, we have to act all lovey-dovey, right? How are we supposed to get to know each other when we are meant to act like we already do?'

'Well, I like to think back to my teen years for inspiration,' Nikita replies devilishly. _'Never Have I Ever, Truth or Dare, Strip Poker_ - '

'You played Strip Poker as a _teenager_?' I ask incredulously.

'No, not really,' she says. 'But seriously, sometimes you'll be caught out on the details. You will know the basics, but you don't want to freeze when someone asks you each other's favorite food, or TV show, or whatever.'

I sigh dramatically. 'Why are you so good at giving advice?' I ask.

'I did an undercover job working at a rehab clinic, honey. We had a lot of shrinks.'

'Well, I appreciate it,' I say genuinely. 'I'm really glad that I have someone in this city who knows what's going on that I can count on to teach me yoga when I'm stressed.'

Nikita laughs. 'Anytime, future Mrs. Pierce. And if my advice is so great, then take it,' she adds. 'Trust me. A bottle of Tequila and you two will be best friends for life.'

* * *

**A/N: How wonderful is the new promo for Nikita? I was practically jumping for joy when I saw my beautiful OTP getting it on. If you haven't seen it, GO. NOW.**

**Anyway, this was more of a filler chapter (sorry!), but I wanted to get some Nikita/Alex friendship in there, as it's one of the best relationships on the show. Next chapter, I'm hoping to do a 'Never Have I Ever' scene. Any ideas/suggestions? All comments are welcome and appreciated.**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers!**


	9. Tequila and Toasts

**A/N: Number 1) Nikita ratings are back! Take that, freaking Top Model. I trust that my wonderful readers are of the opinion that Olex had NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. He wasn't even IN 3x06.**

**2) Haha I was right about Sonya being the mole - but at least it is coercion - I don't want Amanda to break up my Nerds Squared. And for the record, I never thought Sean was the mole. You wanna know why? - He LOVES Alex, and therefore would not blow her up!**

**3) As for Sean, how badass was he? My heart melted when he came in, literally 'all guns blazing'. Also when Alex hugged him, and when he was all 'Michael asked me to do a job and I did. That's all' and ALEX'S FACE. My poor babies. Why can't we cut right to 2013 and steamy Salex sex? Why?**

**4) OMG I love Cyrus. Get back on my screen this minute. This. Minute. Is it so wrong for a microscopic specklet of me to be okay with him and Nikita as a ship? (Please don't hurt me, fellow Mikita fans. I just think he's yummy, alright?)**

**5) Sorry for the delay in the chapter (blame my English teacher. Blame. Her. Goddamn essays.), and the length of this A/N. They are notoriously long. It's an art form, you know.**

* * *

_**Sean's Apartment, UES**_

I am in my room, finally unpacking my suitcases. I suppose I am resigned to the fact that I live here - for now - and have to make the best of it. I am folding blouses when I hear the front door open.

Sean. He's home.

I immediately stop folding, smooth my shirt down and head into the living area.

Sean is hanging up his coat as I walk in. 'Hey,' I say nervously.

'Hey yourself,' he replies. The air is thick with tension, a thickness I want to alleviate.

'Look, I just wanted to apologize for going a bit postal before,' I say quickly, wanting to get it over with.

Sean laughs. 'It's no big deal. You had every right to be mad at me.'

'Still, I shouldn't have flipped out last night.'

Silence sets in awkwardly.

'So, how was your day with Nikita?' asks Sean.

I smile brightly. 'Great,' I enthuse. 'We did yoga, as you forewarned. She seems so kind and friendly.'

'Yeah, Michael and I have known each other forever and she's been with him for almost as long,' replies Sean.

'She actually gave me some advice, about this whole fake-engagement thing,' I say. 'I'm actually planning on taking it.'

'Oh? And what advice would that be?' inquires Sean inquisitively.

'Well, since we are going to be cohabitating for the near future, it's probably a good idea to get to know each other a little better, right?'

'Sure,' Sean says. 'And how would you suggest we do that? Will it be any fun?' he adds teasingly.

I feel a devilish smile spread across my face. 'That depends on entirely on how much alcohol is in this apartment.'

* * *

An hour later, a bottle of Tequila has been emptied, and it is safe to say that with each gulp, the distance from my current state of mind to tipsyland becomes shorter and shorter. Sean is not _quite_ there yet.

'I cannot believe that we are playing a college drinking game,' he says. 'I haven't played Never Have I Ever in years.'

'Well, you're pretty good at it,' I reply, gesturing to the empty bottle.

'Please, you drank the majority of it,' Sean retorts. 'Looks like you had a colorful college experience.'

'Don't worry, the night's not over yet,' I say. 'Still time for me to discover your greatest indiscretions.'

Sean smiles, and raises his eyebows in a very 'that's-not-gonna-happen' way. 'So... never have I ever... been arrested.'

A small smile spreads over my lips as I take a shot. Sean does not. 'Wow, you really are a Boy Scout,' I say.

'You mean upstanding citizen, of course,' he replies. 'So, what were you arrested for?' he asks.

I tap my nose. 'That's a secret for another bottle,' I say. 'Okay, next one. Never Have I Ever... gotten into a bar fight.'

I take a shot. Sean takes a shot. 'Now we're getting somewhere,' I say. 'Why did you get into a bar fight? I pegged you more as the calm mediator dude.'

Sean laughs dryly. 'Nope,' he says. 'I try to be, but that time, it did not happen. Let's just say Boston's bartenders do not like me.'

'What, did the Yankees beat the Red Sox so the Bostonians picked on your poor unfortunate New Yorker soul?' I tease.

Sean looks at me, and says, with all seriousness, 'Other way around, Alex. Yankees were beaten by the Red Sox. I was just defending my home team's honor.'

I roll back my head and laugh. The thought of Sean getting in a fight because of a baseball game causes my intoxication-approaching mind considerable amusement.

'What's so funny?' asks Sean, mock-injured.

'Honor really is a big deal for you,' I say.

'Comes with being a military man,' Sean replies.

'So, why did you join the Navy?' I enquire, genuinely curious. 'You could have had a smooth career on Wall Street. Why SEAL Team 6?'

Sean shrugs. 'My mom always wanted me to go into business, and I guess I have with this whole 'Oversight Foundation' thing,' he says. 'But I joined the Navy for my dad. He was an army man. Good, honest, loyal. I joined up to, you know, honor his memory. He died when I was a kid.'

'Nikita told me. Sean, I'm so sorry,' I say solemnly. In a flash my sobriety is seeping back in. _I can't be drunk to have this conversation_, says my sensible side, making a rare appearance.

Sean looks at me sadly and smiles. 'Life sucks sometimes, huh?'

'I'll drink to that,' I say.

There is a comfortable silence as Sean and I mull over the crappiness of life. It is a nice peace, one where we are merely luxuriating in each other's presence. Then, an idea crosses my mind.

'What was your dad's name?' I ask.

'Mason, why?'

I hold up my shot glass and look up to the ceiling. 'To Mason Pierce. I never knew you, but I know you were one of the good ones. Wherever you are, I hope you're smiling. This one's for you.' I down the shot in a gulp, as does Sean. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his eyes become glassy.

I turn to him, and hold up my empty glass. 'And to you,' I say. 'To being a not-half-bad fake-fiancée and a good future drinking partner, and friend.'

Sean laughs. 'Right back at you, Princess,' he says.

'Seriously, Boy Scout,' I say, meeting his eye. 'You're one of the good ones too.'

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so not much Never Have I Ever stuff but I wanted to get in some Salex bonding time, because it's something we never see. And as we don't know much about Sean's dad, I made bits up. Part of why it's called AU, right?**

**This six-week-long hiatus is going to kill me (AAARRRGGGHHH). So while we wait for our sexy superspies to return to our screens, I'm going to ignore Olex shippers going on about them having such amazing chemistry (I will not engage in a ship war I will not engage in a ship war I will not engage in a ship war...) and go back to watching my 0.02 seconds of Alex on top of Sean. Kthxbye.**

**As always, reviews are appreciated.**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers.**


	10. Gatorade, Phone calls and Pancakes

**A/N: I am in Nikita withdrawal. It has been one week. Fandoms are like addictions - you take one little bit, you get hooked, you keep on needing a little here and there to keep you going and then BAM! It takes over your entire freaking life! Holy crap I need help.**

* * *

_**Sean's Apartment, UES**_

I wake with a head that throbs and pounds like a Labrador whimpers after a Rottweiler dogfight. I am lying sprawled out on my bed, still fully clothed, with my duvet covering me. I turn my head and see a bottle of Gatorade and an aspirin lying on my bedside table. _Sean._

_He must have carried my drunken form and tucked me into bed,_ I think to myself. _And left me medicine. I'm starting to like this guy as a roommate. _

I smile at the thought of last night's antics - the teenage drinking game, Sean opening up about his dad, me toasting to our new-found attempt at a friendship. I remind myself to call Nikita and thank her for her advice. Then, as I laugh out loud at the thought of her inevitable excitement, my head pounds once more. M_aybe I could have gone easy on the Tequila._

I drag myself out of bed, open the Gatorade bottle, and down the pill in one gulp. Slowly, while nursing my hangover headache by pressing my hand to my pulse points, I make my way to the bathroom. Right now, I just need a shower. Whoever said that Russians can hold their drink like none other, obviously haven't met this one.

* * *

I walk into the living room, fully dressed and hair dried (_thank you Mama for always telling me to pack a travel hair-dryer_) and see Sean, sitting at the breakfast counter with a coffee and a newspaper. I smile involuntarily. It's almost - domestic.

'What are you reading?' I ask, as I slide behind him to the counter to the coffee machine to make myself a much-needed boost.

'The New York Times,' he replies. 'And no coffee for you, you just consumed a third of my alcohol in one night and you are not dehydrating yourself by drinking an espresso.'

'Since when did you become the hangover treatment expert?' I tease, reaching for a glass of water.

'Experience,' he responds dryly. 'I guess my stunt at the gala went down well, then,' he says after a moment.

'What?' I ask in confusion. 'How do you know?'

He puts down the paper and shows me the article he is reading. "_New York philanthropist to wed Russian heiress after public proposal_". Plastered on the page is a picture of Sean, in the act of proposing to me on stage. I choke on my water.

'So, what about the fundraising?' I ask, tactfully avoiding anything wedding-related. Let's keep this conversation pleasant.

Sean's face lights up. 'So far, I've gotten twenty time what I expected. It was a total success.'

'That's fantastic,' I enthuse. 'It looks like your plan worked.'

'Yeah, the proposal story has gone viral. It's everywhere. I believe the Russian press has gotten a hold of news and is running it back on your soil.'

My face falls. 'Wh - what?' I falter. I set my glass down on the counter so that I don't drop it.

'Alex, what's wrong?' Sean inquires, concern etched into the worry lines of his face. His hand instinctively flies to my shoulder to steady me.

'My mom,' I breathe out. 'She doesn't know about us - this _thing._ She's probably having a heart attack right now. Or, she's on a plane over here to kill me.'

Sean pales. 'You didn't tell her?' he asks, shocked.

I shrug. 'I didn't want her to know what I was doing,' I admit. 'She would have tried to talk me out of it, then kill my dad for making me do it.'

'Then why don't you call her?' he suggests, rubbing soothing circles on my back unconsciously.

I take a deep breath. 'You're right,' I say. 'I'll go do that now.' I head out of the living room to make the phone call, dreading and anticipating the worst.

'Let me know how it goes,' Sean says as I turn to leave.

'Only if you promise to come to my funeral,' I joke back.

* * *

_'Alexandra Natasha Udinov, what the hell is wrong with you_!' screams my mother into the phone. I wince and open my mouth to explain, but as if by telepathic powers, she interrupts me again before I can explain myself. _'I am going to _kill_ your father_!'

'Wait, you know?' I ask.

_'He had to give an explanation after I come home to find the cook muttering to the butler about my own daughter's WEDDING_!'

'Again, I'm sorry, I should have told you,' I say.

_'A whirlwind romance is one thing, Alexandra_,' my mother says, sighing. _'But this is no better than prostitution.'_

_'Mama!'_

_'I'm not mad_,' she says. I scoff under my breath. _'Okay, maybe a _little_ mad,_' she amends. _'But I'm mostly just shocked. And angry that you didn't think to tell me. You should have told me.'_

I close my eyes. 'I'm sorry, I know that, Mama,' I say.

_'It's okay, baby. But you do realize that I'm going to have to fly out to New York, don't you_?' I protest loudly, but to no avail. _'You can't have a public wedding without your mother there.'_

'But I don't even know when the wedding _is_!' I exclaim.

_'Then I'll help you plan it. It doesn't seem like this Madeleine woman has any taste.'_

_'Mama!'_

_'I'll see you soon, Alexandra. I love you.'_

_'Love you too, Mama,_' I reply. _'But least give me another week before you come over here?'_

She sighs over the phone. _'Three days.'_

She hangs up, and I sigh, half with relief that this conversation is over, half with panic at what is about to happen. _As if this couldn't get any crazier._

* * *

'How did it go?' Sean asks as I re-enter the living room. He is piling a plate high with pancakes as I walk into the room, and my stomach grumbles approvingly.

'It looks like you're going to get a chance to meet the in-laws sooner than expected,' I say. 'My mom isn't going to fry me, she's going to fly here.'

'I take it from your expression that that isn't a cause for celebration?'

'You haven't met my mother,' I reply.

'Well, you've met mine,' Sean jokes. 'How bad can she be?'

I raise my eyebrows at him. He gives me his lopsided, goofy smile. 'Pancakes?' he suggests, gesturing to the plate in front of him. I nod. 'Chocolate chip or banana?' he asks.

'Both.'

* * *

**A/N: Just a short, lighter, fluffier chapter to contrast with the heaviness of the one-shot I just posted (I'm going to go ahead and shamelessly self-promote: go check it out!). I think I'm going to have the Sean-meets-the-parent-Udinovs scene in the next chapter, but I'm kinda stumped for ideas after that as to how our Princess and the SEAL fall in love realistically. Ideas?**

**As always, reviews are appreciated.**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers!**

**P.S. For the Guest who was wondering where the promo for Salex making out is, it's around the 7 second mark at watch?v=pQpp0-sBQd4. Enjoy!**


	11. Lobbies and Lunches

**A/N: Just to say a quick thank you to everyone who supports this story by reading, reviewing, subscribing and favoriting. You guys are wonderful! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

* * *

_**St. Regis Hotel lobby, NY**_

True to her word, my mother's flight from Moscow to New York flies in exactly three days since our phone call, as promised. In that period of time, Sean and I have been seen everywhere in New York City from a little coffee shop in Brooklyn to taking a romantic stroll in Central Park. You know, raising our profile, increasing our visibility. _Playing the part._

But now, I am waiting in the lobby of the St. Regis hotel for my mother to come and meet her future in-laws. Therefore, sitting on a leather sofa to my left are Sean and the Ice Queen herself. As my mother's flight got in less than five hours ago and my mother is currently 'freshening up', I am left to bite my carefully manicured nails to brittle stubs whilst my fiancé calmly reads today's _Financial Times_ as his mother stares me down with her steely, beady, hawk-like eyes. It is unnerving, to say the least. Far more troublesome is my mother and soon to be mother-in-law's impending meeting.

Right on cue and not a second too soon, Katya Udinov waltzes out of the main elevators in a fur-trimmed coat (don't call PETA) and arms outstretched. 'Alexandra, my darling, how good to see you,' she says loudly as she embraces me tightly. After an eternity (five seconds) of low oxygen flow, she releases me and turns to Sean.

'And you must be Sean,' she says, kissing his cheek. 'It's a pleasure to meet the man who captured my dear Alexandra's heart.'

'Pleased to meet you too, Mrs. Udinov,' he replies courteously. 'I would like to introduce my mother, Madeleine Pierce.'

Then, my mother turns to Madeleine, and plastering onto her face what I have come to know as her best fake smile, greets her. 'How lovely to meet you,' she says.

'Likewise,' replies Ice Queen, all sugary sweetness and smiling with her mouth. She gestures to the large revolving door and the chauffeur-driven vehicle outside. 'Shall we go to lunch?' she asks.

'We shall,' my mother replies.

'This should be interesting,' mutters Sean into my ear. He takes my hand in his. 'My mom plus yours together in a public place. Let's go give New York City something to talk about.'

* * *

**_Adour, St. Regis Hotel restaurant, NY_**

I cut my steak and pop it in my mouth, chewing at exactly the speed to eat as fast as possible without wolfing it down. I am not at all hungry, but I do want to get the hell out of here. Sitting next to me is Sean, cool as a cucumber. _I must remember to ask him how he resists freak-outs, _I say to myself._ I could use a dose of that._

Especially now, with the two formidable women in front of me engaging in seemingly pleasant small talk. But I have been traversing the high-end world of the socialite long enough to know that they simply put, don't like each other. My mother is fiery and says what comes to mind whereas Ice Queen is well, cold and detached, businesslike at all times.

'So, what have you done in the way of wedding planning?' my mother asks me.

'Uh - we got engaged _last week_,' I reply awkwardly, absentmindedly twiddling the large diamond that resides on my ring finger when I am in public. 'We haven't done much in the way of planning yet.'

'Actually,' Ice Queen interrupts, 'I've arranged a bridal fitting for tomorrow. I thought it would be best to have your mother there with you,' she adds.

'How very thoughtful of you,' says my mother, her smile enlarging. 'Have you made arrangements for the catering, flowers, guest list, invitations, location and color of the carpet by any chance too?'

Ice Queen laughs humorously. 'Not quite,' she replies jokingly. 'Sean and Alex will be meeting with caterers to decide upon the cake the day after tomorrow.'

'Great,' I mutter under my breath, just loud enough so that Sean can hear me. He gives me a supportive smile, and takes my hand, squeezing it gently under the table in a show of support.

'Mother, are you sure it's a good idea to do it so soon?' he asks.

'Well, unless there's a problem on your front, I don't see why we can't proceed as planned,' she replies coldly.

'Yourself being the primary planner, I presume,' quips my mother. 'Is there any part of this the bride and groom have input in?'

Ice Queen smiles dangerously, and with a lowered voice, says, 'My _dear_ Katya, as I am sure you are aware, this is not a conventional wedding.' My mothers' eyes narrow. Madeleine continues. 'Our children have been kind enough to volunteer themselves to make sure this transaction is as smooth as possible. I am merely doing my part by doing the necessary work to make 'smooth' the operative word here.'

'Of course,' my mother replies slowly. 'I am sure you are working very hard. I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labor.'

'In that case,' interrupts Sean, before things go from precariously civil to contemptuous, 'I think that it is time Alex and I left.'

Ice Queen and my mother swing round to look at us with puzzlement written into their anti-ageing-serum remedied worry lines. 'But darling,' my mother begins.

'Don't worry, we'll have time to catch up properly later, I reassure. 'You're here for three more days, right?'

She sighs. 'You are right. I shall see you soon. Sean, Madeleine, it was _lovely_ to be formally introduced.' Then, with a flourish, she stands, puts on and straightens her hat, then leaves.

Sean and I follow suit, leaving Ice Queen at the table, in the solitude to map out our wedding that she must be used to by now.

* * *

**Central Park, NY**

'So, why the quick getaway back there?' I inquire as we stroll through the park.

Sean shrugs. 'I could sense you were pretty tense in there, and our mothers politely sparring wasn't exactly creating an environment conducive to family bonding over a meal.'

'No kidding,' I say. There is a pause. 'So, red velvet or chocolate? Or are you a fruitcake kinda guy?' I ask.

'What?' he replies, his brow furrowing with confusion.

'The cake tasting,' I explain. 'Personally, I've always been a chocolate cake fan.'

'But surely wedding cakes have to be white?' Sean asks teasingly. 'It's a tradition.'

'Name one thing about this wedding that is traditional,' I counter.

'Absolutely nothing,' he shoots back.

'But I guess I'm willing to make one further compromise,' I say. 'Only on one condition, though.'

'I'm listening.'

'The cake can be white chocolate...'

'But?'

'You never leave me in a room alone with our mothers. Ever.'

'Don't you have a bridal fitting tomorrow?'

'Except that.'

'Then you've got yourself a deal,' Sean replies.

We continue walking through the scenery of urban park bliss surrounding us. After a moment or so, Sean speaks.

'Red velvet,' he says. 'That's my favorite cake. Red velvet.'

'So, our wedding cake will be half red velvet, half white chocolate. You really want it to look like candycane?'

'You got something against candycane?'

'No, sir,' I respond, holding up my hands in a motion of mock-surrender.

'Good. Because then we might have a problem.' He is all seriousness, and I laugh despite myself.

'Great,' I reply. 'We can officially sign off our divorce to "irreconcilable differences" on the matter of candycane.'

Sean raises an eyebrow. 'How about we deal with the crazy of the wedding first. Then, we can deal with the divorce.'

'Deal,' I reply. 'Let the wedding planning commence.'

* * *

**A/N: So, not much Salex in here, but I wanted to get Katya in here (or at least my version of her). I thought the Katya/Madeleine tense-ish interaction would be a nice contrast to Sean and Alex's (budding) relationship. I know I'm taking a while with the build up, but to create a realistic conclusion, I need to create a believable journey. Next chapter should have more Salex (involving the cake testing, I might add. I'm sorry. Cake is such a huge part of my life I just have to include it somehow.)**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers!**


	12. Sashes, Tea and White Chocolate

**A/N: And here I was thinking that Winter Break would lend itself to more frequent updates... Oops. Between the family and festivities, this is the best I could do. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season. Happy (belated) New Year! May 2013 bring our long-awaited lovers together!**

* * *

_**Vera Wang Bridal House, 991 Madison Avenue, UES**_

_When will this just end_, I think to myself as I try the 49th dress on. In the middle of one of the most beautiful stores amongst some of the most beautiful gowns, I am thinking about how to get the hell out. That is just plain wrong. Perhaps it's the fact that my mother and future mother-in-law are with me wedding dress hunting, scrutinizing every dress, disagreeing on every detail fathomable; that, or it's the 49th goddamn dress and four hours later, I still haven't made (or been allowed to make) a decision. For god's sake, it's a _fake_ wedding, ergo the dress doesn't matter.

The assistant (who, in her defense, has been most helpful) ties the lavender sash around my waist to complete the dress. I walk from behind the screen to be viewed for inspection by the two terrifying matriarchs.

'So, what do you think?' I ask, for what seems to be the billionth time.

Both women survey the garment critically before verbalizing their verdict. Of course, it had to be at the same time.

'I like it.'

'Not bad.'

My eyes widen, and they both turn towards each other in surprise. This is the first time they've agreed on something all day.

'It's classic yet elegant. Perfect for a corporate queen,' says Madeleine, with the tone of voice suggesting that she is commenting on the appearance of a cabbage she might buy.

'It's understated but still classy,' concurs my mother.

'Great,' I say, hurrying to step off the platform and change back into my regular clothes. 'We'll take this one,' I tell the assistant.

'Are you sure?' asks my mother. 'It is your wedding after all.'

'I'm positive,' I reassure. _Not a real wedding_, I think to myself. _When that happens, I'll be a little more careful._

'Fantastic,' says Madeleine, rising from the plush chair her behind has been resting in. 'That covers the dress.'

My mother smiles tightly. 'Now all that leaves for today is the veil.'

* * *

**_Cafe Boulud 20 East 76th Street, UES, NY_**

'I must say, this city has rather grown on me since my arrival,' says my mother, sipping her herbal tea. It is her last day in the city, so she has decided to take me out to afternoon tea in yet another high-end restaurant. I have been avoiding her for the duration of her trip, wanting to spare myself the lecture, but now, sitting across from her, that wish proves to be futile.

'Being in New York is definitely the upside to all of this,' I reply.

'Well, it's hard to see an upside when you're with that dreadful Pierce woman,' says my mother disdainfully. 'I don't know what your father was thinking.'

'You and me both, Mom,' I mutter under my breath.

'And that boy doesn't seem to be much better,' she continues. 'I'm just about sick of these manipulative corporate types.'

'Mom!' I say indignantly, ignoring the irony of my mother condemning manipulation (hello, wife of an oligarch talking here). 'Dislike Madeleine all you like, but don't blame Sean for being a good son. He's in the same position as I am, and he's the closest thing to a friend that I have in this city. Sean's a good guy, Mom,' I add.

She raises her immaculately shaped eyebrow. 'So, you and this Sean are... friends?' she inquires, her tone laced with curiosity.

'Yes,' I reply. 'We're friends.'

She surveys me carefully, looking for a falter in my expression. Finally, she rises. 'It was lovely to see you again, Alexandra, but I'm afraid I have to go. I have a spa treatment booked for before my flight this evening.'

I stand up and hug her, for a second morphing back into my childhood self, just craving for the human touch of a parent. 'Be careful,' she says as she releases me from her arms. 'That woman is a snake. She will do whatever she deems necessary to get what she wants.'

I smile at her dramatic warning. 'I'll be careful, Mom. Don't worry.'

She places her hand to my cheek and takes a deep breath. 'I'll expect an invitation to the wedding in, what? A week?'

I laugh. 'Something like that.'

We turn to part, and my mother leaves me with a final warning. 'Make sure you and Sean stay just friends. You don't want to complicate your relationship further.'

I tilt my head in confusion. 'Stay just friends,' I repeat her words out loud. _What else would we ever be?_

* * *

**_Butterfield Catering, 346 East 92nd Street, NY_**

'This is so good,' I say, my mouth full of chocolate cake. Sean and I are sitting at a long table, with about a dozen different kinds of cake in front of us. We are at the cake tasting, and currently on the 9th cake. They are all amazing – chocolate, red velvet, Victoria sponge, fruit cake, you name it.

'This is definitely my favorite part of the wedding preparations so far,' Sean says, in between mouthfuls.

'You don't get to talk,' I say, mock-indignantly. 'I'm the one who had to squeeze into a million dresses and be scrutinized by both our mothers just the other day. And, speaking of dresses, I hope that I still fit into my dress after this.'

'I'm sure you'll be just fine,' Sean reassures.

'To be honest, I'm still kinds surprised that your mom let us pick out the cake,' I say, placing a forkful of the next cake into my mouth.

'Knowing her, she probably isn't letting us choose,' Sean responds, all traces of humor (even dark) escaping his tone. My face visibly falls. _Great_, I think. _Is there any part of this she isn't controlling?_

'Hey, she's probably just going to veto whatever we choose,' he says. 'You know, to make sure we don't choose a cake shaped like a soccer ball or something like that.'

'A soccer ball?' I repeat, gesturing to the cakes in front of us. 'Do you see any soccer balls?'

Sean smiles. 'You get the point.'

'Yeah,' I reply. 'Guys and sports. I will never understand you.'

'I have sisters. I know the deal about girls and shoes,' he replies, without missing a beat.

'Fine,' I say. 'So, what will it be? Milk chocolate or Victoria sponge?'

'As I recall, you promised to choose white chocolate,' he quips back.

'Ah, you remembered.'

'Of course I remembered,' he says, mock-insulted that I would doubt his memory.

'Well, I honor my promises, so it looks like our guests will be feasting on white chocolate wedding cake. Sure hope nobody's lactose intolerant.'

'What about the red velvet? Didn't we suggest a candycane cake?' he says teasingly.

'Don't push it,' I retort. '"Irreconcilable differences", remember?'

'Are you trying to insult my memory? Or is it just subconcious.

I shake my head, laughing, and we move on to the next cake. 'If I didn't know better, I'd say you're just paranoid.'

'Just eat the cake.'

* * *

**A/N: Again, sorry for the lack of updates. Hopefully I will regain momentum as we progress in the story. As always, feedback is appreciated. **

**Until next time, Salex-shippers.**


	13. Vows and Blankets

**A/N: This hiatus has been absolute hell. Pure and utter torture. I swear to god, fanvids and tumblr gifs are the only thing keeping me going.**

**Presenting chapter fourteen - I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_**Sean's Apartment, UES**_

I chew on the end of a ballpoint pen in frustration. I am currently sitting at the kitchen counter, a million bits of paper in front of me. Sean is on the sofa, feet on the coffee table, writing on the notepad in front of him. Can you guess what we are doing?_ Wait for it ..._ Writing wedding vows. It turns out Ice Queen really wants this arrangement to be over as soon as humanly possible, because she's set our wedding date. It's in 10 days. And at this point, I can hardly say that I am surprised.

At first, Sean suggested that we just stick to the traditional vows, but both Madeleine and I wanted to have them written by us. (The first and likely only thing we will ever agree on). On her part, it was to help with the 'young lovestruck couple reciting mushy ass jargon' image the tabloid press will no doubt eat up like a malnourished child. On my part, it was a blithe romantic fancy which I thought would be all dandy. You know, one of those great ideas you have before realizing how hard it's going to be.

'What have you got so far?' I ask, still staring at my practically blank sheet.

He looks up from his pad just when I do and meets my eye. 'I think I'm almost done,' he says. 'I just need to tweak here and there, and all I have left to do for the wedding is show up.'

'How?' I splutter. 'I haven't even gotten past my opening sentence!'

'I'm a man of many talents,' he jokes teasingly. He holds up his pad. 'Wanna proof it? I was always lousy at spelling.'

I shake my head. 'I'll let your mom do the proofing,' I reply. 'Plus, yours is probably a modern-day Sonnet which will piss me off even further, considering that I can't write these vows worth a darn.'

Sean laughs. 'I'm sure it'll be fine,' he says. 'Trust me, inspiration will hit you when you least expect it.'

'Are you suggesting that I keep some paper in the shower so I can write down flashes of romantic prose?' I retort.

'As long as you're not writing your vows in lipstick on a napkin five minutes before the ceremony starts, I don't really care,' he replies, without missing a beat.

I sigh and throw my pen onto the counter. 'In that case, there's no use in me trying to get this done right now,' I say. My eyes search the room. 'Do you have any movies?'

Sean looks positively offended that I could ask him a question of that nature. 'A better question would be what _don't_ I have?' he retorts. 'What do you feel like watching?'

I raise my eyebrow. 'Surprise me,' I deadpan.

* * *

Two hours and almost two tubs of Ben and Jerry's later, I am barely keeping my eyes open. I am aware of the end credits of Ferris Bueller's Day Off playing softly somewhere, and that I am lying on a couch, in Sean's living room. Then, my mind restarts and my eyes widen from their previous flickering to full saucers.

'Sean?' I call out into the currently empty living room.

'Shhh,' comes the reply from behind me. Sean steps into the light of the glow emmiting from the TV screen, with what appears to be a blanket in his hands. 'Go to sleep,' he says gently, unfolding in blanket and covering me with it.

I begin to protest. 'Sean, you don't have to - '

'Alex, you have been under way too much pressure lately. You need to rest sometimes. I know how hard this is.'

'Why can't I rest in my own room?'

'Because standing up, turning the lights on and walking to your room will wake you up completely. Right now, you are somewhat relaxed, so let's just take advantage of that.'

I realize that there is no use in arguing this further, so I shut my mouth and let Sean tuck me in. 'Fine,' I concede. 'But just this once. And if I get a crick in my neck from sleeping on this couch, I'm blaming you,' I add.

'I'm sure you will,' he replies. Even though my eyes are flickering again and I cannot see his face, I can tell he is smiling. 'Good night,' he whispers gently.

I mumble an incoherent 'thank you' in response, but he has already left the room.

* * *

The next morning, I am flipping channels in an effort to quell my boredom when Sean walks in, looking antsy.

'What's going on?' I immediately ask.

'I just got off the phone with my mother,' Sean begins.

'Uh-oh. That sounds ominous.' The only time Ice Queen tells us anything is when barking the next set of orders at us, the next stage of her grand ol' master plan that we have to complete.

'Yeah, she told us to pack.' _Told you. _

'For what?' I inquire.

Sean almost looks pained when he replies. 'The honeymoon,' he chokes out.

'Seriously? I ask indignantly. 'Where are we even going?'

'She says it's a surprise, but to pack for warm weather,' he replies. 'Alex, I am so sorry about this.'

I shake my head in frustration. 'It's not your fault, Sean,' I say. 'This is just part of your mom's plan that she just neglects to inform us about until the last second.'

'Yeah, that is kinda her M.O.,' Sean says, running a hand absentmindedly through his hair. 'On the _bright side_, we'll be going somewhere _sunny_,' he adds, a goofy smile emerging on his face.

'Very funny,' I retort. 'If that is your idea of a pun, it's a damn good thing you did not become a comedian.'

'What? I'm hilarious,' Sean says. 'You're just a sucky audience.'

'Whatever helps you sleep at night.'

* * *

**A/N: So, where is their honeymoon destination? I will send virtual cookies to anyone who guesses correctly - hint: not anywhere overly exotic. And I apologize for the shorter update; this was more of a filler chapter than anything else. But do not worry. There are only two words I will give you for the next chapter, and they are this: Bachelorette Party. **

**Only a few days till the next Nikita! I am so excited to see what is in store! Nikita typically becomes epic to the point of no return (see what I did there) around midseason. (Anyone remember 'All The Way'?) **

**As always, all feedback is appreciated. I would love to hear from you, especially if there's anything in particular (a line, a scene, a character cameo etc.) that you want me to include.**

**Until next time, Salex shippers.**


	14. Drinking, Dancing and Drunken Kissing

**A/N: I'm afraid I have no other way to explain my abysmally long absence other than plain old-fashioned writer's block. But after 3x09 and in anticipation of 3x11, I knew it really was time for me to get off my ass.**

**Anyhow, enjoy!**

* * *

_**Prime 333 Nighclub, 333 E 60th St, NYC**_

The only other woman apart from Ice Queen I actually know in this town is Nikita, and the task of my bachelorette party is something she absolutely insisted on doing for me. Surprisingly, it appears that Ice Queen has let us have relative freedom, apart from ordering a company limo and driver to wait outside all night. She won't have me stumbling drunkenly into a cab three days before my wedding. That is most certainly _not_ the kind of tabloid press coverage she had in mind.

So here I am, surrounded by half a dozen women I don't even know (save Nikita), doing shots while male exotic dancers surround us.

'Isn't this _fun_?' exclaims a woman named Sonya, in her polished British accent.

I smile exaggeratedly and nod, downing my shot in one gulp. _Thank sweet baby Jesus for vodka,_ I think, knowing that I'm gonna need a shitload more of these to get through the spectacle that is a heavily waxed, oiled-up dancer with a six-pack, gyrating against a blonde woman named Jill who is apparently a journalist friend of Nikita's. _Yup. Definitely more vodka._

Nikita slides into a seat next to me with the next round of drinks. 'It's your third-last night as a single woman, so drink up,' she says.

I take the drink with a grateful smile. 'Are you _trying_ to get me hammered?' I tease.

She holds up her hands in mock-surrender. 'Hey, I'm just an accomplice here. You're the one doing the drinking.'

We laugh, and then I remember that I must ask her something. 'Hey, Nikita,' I begin cautiously. 'I've been meaning to ask you something...'

'Fire away,' she responds.

'Well, you're an old friend to Sean and a new one to me, and I was kinda hoping that, um, you would be my maid of honor?' I say this all in one breath.

Nikita's smile grows by three inches. 'Of course,' she replies, smile so wide her teeth could power electricity plants from here to Oregon. 'I'm flattered you asked. Then again, I am really just your only option,' she adds playfully.

'No, not at all,' I say quickly, before realizing that she was just kidding. She laughs at my expression, as I swat her with my purse.

'So, do you know where you are honeymooning?' she asked.

I shake my head. 'Nope. Sean told me to pack for someplace warm, though.'

'A honeymoon destination that is warm. That narrows it down,' she comments dryly.

'At any rate, my parents are flying in tomorrow for the wedding,' I say.

'You'll all be one big happy family,' replies Nikita. We laugh, rolling our eyes at the absurdity. 'Or not,' Nikita amends. 'I distinctly recall Madeleine giving your mother the evil eye when she flew over, and vice versa,' she adds.

'Since when are mothers'-in-law meant to get along?' I deadpan.

Nikita laughs, and orders another round of drinks.

'What, are _you_ trying to get yourself completely wasted here?' I ask teasingly. 'I had you pegged as the mature, responsible type.'

'I am,' she replies with a nonchalant shrug. 'But it's your bachelorette party, and one of us has to have some fun, right?'

I take this as a challenge. 'You think I can't have fun?' I ask. Impulsively again, I down the shot before me in one gulp, grab Nikita's hand and make for the dance floor. I make out Sonya and Jill in the middle, dancing to an upbeat track with a heavy bass. 'Hey, Sonya! Jill! Get over here!' I shout, taking the lead from my friend and now maid of honor.

As I begin to lose myself in the music, I can see a very satisfied-looking Nikita out of the corner of my eye. _So maybe this thing is _somewhat_ a success,_ I say with my eyes. She just smiles.

* * *

_**Sean's Apartment, UES**_

Three hours later, I stumble into Sean's apartment using the key he had made for me. My inebriated mind can see that the lights are on, so Sean must be home and still awake. As I trip my way into the living room, my thoughts are confirmed. Sean is sitting on the couch, a beer in hand, half-watching the Redskins game, half-staring into space.

'Yoohoo!' I shout, startling him so that he almost spills his drink.

'Alex?'

'Yes, darling,' I say, with great flourish.

'So, I take it the Bachelorette Party was a success,' he says wryly.

'What about you? See any strippers tonight?' I slur, remembering that Michael had organized Sean's Bachelor Party tonight as well.

'Nope. Nikki would kick Mikey's ass if he took me to a strip club,' Sean says with a laugh. 'We drank, mostly. But not as much as you, obviously,' he adds, as my posture becomes increasingly imbalanced.

I giggle ridiculously at his words, but my body shakes as I do so, causing me to lose my footing in my heels-so-high-they-would-put-the-Empire-State-to-shame shoes. I trip forward gracelessly.

Sean instantly steps towards me and outstretches his arms so that I fall neatly and tightly into his embrace. 'You really should take it easy on the hard liquor, missy,' he breathes into my ear.

'I was drinking vodka, not scotch,' I reply. 'Besides, I'm Russian. I can handle it.'

'Evidently.'

I gaze up at him, and through my drunken haze I can see his eyes so clearly - pools of brown so dark and rich that were there a chocolate cake that color I would never stop devouring it. Due to my heels, we are almost equal in height, so I can tell that he is looking at me directly too.

I stare deliberately at his mouth, which, at this moment, is unmoving in our silence. And I can't help but notice the line of his jaw, the smile in his eyes, the amused raise of his eyebrows at my current condition. And I can't help but wonder what those lips would taste like, under my own...

And maybe it's the drinking and the dancing of the night. Maybe it's the fact that standing here, in his arms, is the least alone I have felt in weeks; that out of everyone in the world, Sean is the only one who has been going through this whole thing with me, the only one who can appreciate me for _me_. Not Alexandra Udinov, but _me_, Alex, plain and simple...

And so I can't help but close the distance between us. And I attack his lips with mine, with a burn so overpowering that I'm almost convinced that my blood is, in this moment, made of liquid fire.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I'm leaving you with a cliffie. Yes, I'm evil. No, I don't care ;-) Let me know what you thought of this chapter and what you think is going to happen next! I will send virtual cookies to anyone who guesses correctly!**

**Until next time, Salex-shippers!**


	15. I AM FANGIRL, HEAR ME ROAR

CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD

This is not an apology for my hiatus. This is not me expressing my heartbreak and rage over Sean's death and how he, Salex and his death could have been handled in a way that was meaningfully developed and provided actual closure. As fans, we have no closure. We never saw Sean and Alex's relationship develop properly. We never saw them be happy for more than half a scene before another plot device screwed them over again. We never heard Alex tell Sean she loves - _loved_ - him. She never said those three words.

So this, my friends, is an act of defiance. It is the continuation of a story that I had all but given up on due to external personal reasons. It is a labor of love for a character and a couple whose full potential was never realized. It is a way for me to cope, as someone who is _way_ too emotionally invested and attached to these characters and their relationships. This is _my_ closure. This is _my_ ending.

So, over the next few days, I will be sobbing and rewatching the happy days of season 2 and shouting at my laptop screen, and gorging on ice cream; but once I get over my initial grief, I am going to sit my ass down and start typing. The next chapter of MB should be up by the end of the week at the very latest. Please hold me to that. Feel free to message me, either to cry together and rant and rage, or to kick my butt into gear.

To those of you who have supported me and this story, thank you all so much. I love you all, and your support has been invaluable. I hope that I can give some kind of closure to this story, at least, and I hope you enjoy it. The writers may not have given us our happy ending (or a happ_ier_ ending, I should say), but _I_ damn well plan to.

Until next time, Salex-shippers.


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